Amanda looked down at her clothes. She wore the same jeans, white blouse, and gray blazer that she remembered putting on. Straining to focus her jumbled thoughts, she sensed that she’d been unconscious for quite a while. But her bladder didn’t ache with the need to relieve it, which meant that the drug she was given, like a date-rape drug, allowed her to obey commands. Someone must have carried her to the bathroom, taken her pants off, and coaxed her to urinate.
“The Capitol has grown so much since then that the first cornerstone and its unknown contents have never been recovered.”
Her arms and legs trembled. Her stomach felt heavy. She was as overwhelmed as she’d felt a year earlier when she’d regained consciousness and found herself in the Paragon Hotel. Again, she thought. My God, it’s happening again.
“The fifth is the Gramophone Company Capsule. In 1907, in Middlesex, England, the Gramophone Company placed audio discs into a time capsule in the cornerstone of its new factory.”
The voice was sonorous. Despite her grogginess, she guessed she was hearing the continuation of the speech Professor Murdock delivered at the Manhattan History Club. But the voice did not belong to the professor.
“These recordings included music by several their famous opera stars. During demolition sixty years later, the capsule was found. But before the recordings could be played for an audience, they were stolen, the irreplaceable voices on those discs never to be recovered.”
Amanda fought to control her breathing. Frank? she thought. Where are you? She started toward a door, only to whimper when the voice returned to an earlier part of the lecture.
“Of the thousands of time capsules that have been misplaced…”
Amanda almost screamed.
“… five are considered the most-wanted.”
Chest contracting, she realized that the voice was on a recorded loop. While she was unconscious, it must have played repeatedly. That explained why the words seemed familiar, even though she had no memory of having heard them.
“The first is the Bicentennial Wagon Train Capsule.”
I’m in hell, Amanda thought. She ran to the door and grabbed the handle, fearful that it wouldn’t budge.
“On Independence Day, 1976…”
The handle moved when she pressed down. Heart pounding faster, she yanked at the door.
“… a capsule containing twenty-two million signatures was driven to Valley Forge, Pennsylvania.”
When she pulled the door open, she found a log-walled corridor. She peered to the left and right, seeing doors and paintings of cowboys.
“President Gerald Ford was scheduled to officiate.”
She eased out and shut the door, the only sound a muffled continuation of the recording.
A long carpet occupied the middle of the corridor. On her right, Amanda saw a dead end. She crept silently to the left, hearing the faint voice behind the doors she passed.
“But before the ceremony occurred, someone stole the capsule from an unattended van.”
2
She came to a staircase. Its fresh smell of wood and varnish suggested that the building was new. At the bottom, a large open area led to a door with a window on each side.
She hurried down, reached the door, and grabbed its handle.
Electricity jolted her, knocking her backward. Her mind went blank. The next thing she knew, she landed hard, slamming her head on the floor. Pain shot through her. She groaned and managed to focus her vision.
“Jesus,” someone said.
Turning toward the sound, she saw a man charge down the stairs. Mid-twenties. Short, dark hair. Gaunt, rugged features. Beard stubble.
She raised her hands to defend herself, then realized he wasn’t attacking her.
“Are you hurt?” He helped her up.
“Sore.” She wavered, dazed, grateful not to be alone.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“I have no idea.” Amanda stared at her tingling hand. “But I don’t recommend touching that door handle.”
“The voice in my room… The last thing I remember…” The man’s haunted eyes scanned the area around them. He struggled to concentrate. “I was in a bar in St. Louis.”
“I was at a lecture in Manhattan,” Amanda told him, baffled. “About time capsules.”
“Time capsules? The same as the recording in my room. What the hell’s going on?”
“I’m afraid to imagine.”
“There’s got to be a way out.”
An archway beckoned on the right. They went through it and reached a long dining table flanked by chairs, everything rustic. Windows provided a view of more mountains. Through a further archway, Amanda saw an old-fashioned wood stove, a refrigerator, other windows, and a door.
Her companion hurried toward the latch.
“Don’t touch it,” Amanda told him. “We’ve got to assume all the doors are electrified.”
“Then we’ll break a window.”
A shadow appeared at the entrance to the dining room. Amanda swung around.
3
In the archway, a woman stared at them. She wore camel slacks and a taupe blouse, highlighted by an expensive-looking necklace, watch, bracelet, and several rings. In her thirties, she was taller than Amanda, thin in a manner that suggested she was a compulsive dieter. Her auburn hair was pulled behind her ears. Her tan features were handsome more than beautiful. Her expression was stark.
“What is this place?”
Amanda gestured in frustration. “We don’t know.”
“How did I get here? Tell me who you are.”
“Ray Morgan.”
“Amanda Evert.”
“Who drugged us? I was at a cocktail party. A boat show in Newport Beach. Suddenly I was in that bed upstairs.” The woman shook her head. “I heard that recording. Time capsules? This doesn’t… Who on earth would do this?”
“I’m getting out of here before I find out,” Ray said. He grabbed a chair and swung it toward a window.
Amanda jerked her arms up to shield her face from flying glass, but all she heard was wood cracking. Twice. Three times. Louder. Ray grunted with effort. When the pounding stopped, Amanda lowered her arms and saw that a leg on the chair had broken off but the window remained intact.
“The glass is reinforced.” Ray studied it. “Almost as thick as a jet canopy.”
“Jet canopy?” The comparison seemed odd.
“I was a Marine aviator in Iraq.”
His tone suggested he meant to impress her, but all the reference to Iraq did was send a further spasm of fear through her. For Frank. It reminded her of the terror he’d endured there. Frank. She was certain that he too had been drugged. Otherwise, if he was conscious, he wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. Where was he?
“You haven’t told us your name,” Ray said to the woman.
“Bethany Lane.” She frowned at her bracelet and watch. “Whatever this is about, it isn’t robbery.”
“That doesn’t encourage me,” Amanda said.
Two more figures appeared behind the woman in the archway.
Ray picked up the broken chair leg, holding it as a weapon.
“It’s okay,” a man said. He raised his hands to show they were empty. “I heard what you said. I don’t know anything more about this than you do.”
A woman was with him. “And we’re just as scared.”
The man was black. In his twenties, he had thick, black hair and a lean build. The woman was Anglo, the same age, with cropped brown hair. She too was lean. They wore khaki pants with numerous extra pockets down the sides. Camping clothes.